


Shore Leavings

by Kaci



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaci/pseuds/Kaci
Summary: I'm on my 3rd or 4th round of poison ivy for the summer and was imagining how McCoy would grouse at me if I went in to have it treated and then just kept getting it over and over again. That led to thinking of how he'd handle the crew on shore leave having too much fun.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	Shore Leavings

Dr. McCoy finished the last of his coffee and stretched out his arms before heading to sickbay. He’d spent shore leave on Earth with a lovely young woman, and he felt more relaxed and cheerful than he had in some time. The crew would be well-rested, too, and he looked forward to easing back into his routine before the captain’s next harebrained impulse got them into trouble again. McCoy had left a day early to take advantage of the shuttlecraft between Earth and the Enterprise in orbit, but the rest of the crew would be beaming up today.

He spent a quiet hour or so pottering around sickbay, reorganizing equipment and catching up on log entries. He always had the required information entered promptly, of course, but he liked to fill in more detail when he had the chance. He had just started to settle down with Starfleet Physician’s Quarterly when Ensign Chekov stumbled in looking rather green, generally a bad sign in humans.

“Pavel, what’s wrong?” the doctor asked. “Here, get on the biobed so I can examine you.”

“My head hurts, and my leg hurts, and I feel like I’m going to be sick,” the ensign replied.

McCoy held his hand to Chekov’s forehead. The medical tricorder would be more accurate, of course, but a touch would do for a quick check, and he found that the more personal approach made patients feel cared for. “No fever,” he said. “When did your symptoms start?”

“As soon as I got up this morning,” Chekov said.

“Were you doing anything unusual on your shore leave?”

“Not…unusual…no,” the ensign replied a bit bashfully.

“Out with it,” McCoy groused. “What have you been up to?”

“There was a dance contest last night. Dancing and beautiful women and good Russian vodka.”

“I expect you had too much of at least two of those. You’ve sprained your ankle and you’re hung over. Don’t you remember the last time you mixed dancing with good Russian vodka? I can mend the ankle, but no dancing for two days, and wait a full week before anything involving twisting or lifting your partner. This shot will help with the headache and nausea, but the surest cure is to drink more – water, that is. No hair of the dog, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov sighed.

“Now, about those beautiful women, it looks like your contraceptive shot is up to date, and there haven’t been any STI outbreaks on Earth in decades, so you should be safe there, but be sure to see me if you develop any new symptoms.”'

“Doctor, I didn’t…!” the ensign sputtered.

“You were intoxicated, so I don’t know what you did or didn’t, and I don’t need to know. My interest is purely medical. Now be on your way, and remember, no dancing! And drink some water!” McCoy shook his head at the foolishness of impetuous young officers as he shooed Chekov out of sickbay. Things should be quiet the rest of the morning.

***

He had time to read through two journal articles before he felt eyes on him and lifted his head. “How long have you been standing there, Mr. Sulu?”

“Just a few minutes, doctor, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You dolt, what do you think sickbay is for? Well come on, what’s wrong with you?”'

Sulu extended his arms to display a bumpy, oozing rash that went from his wrists up past his elbows.

“That doesn’t look good,” the doctor said. “Does it itch, burn, what?”

“Mostly itches,” Sulu replied. “I had the chance to go out and tap lacquer trees, and even make some candles with the wax, but I guess I wasn’t careful enough to avoid all contact with the sap.” When McCoy looked at him blankly, he added “It’s in the same genus as poison ivy, with the same effect. I must have become more sensitive than last time I was on planet.”

“Have you ever heard of gloves?” McCoy asked.

“Of course, but then your nose itches, so you have to take them off, or you want to do detailed work with the lacquer brush and you need the fine motor control. And the rash isn’t serious.”

“I’ll decide what’s serious,” McCoy growled. “I can use the skin regenerator to clear off most of the affected layers, and this cream will help with the itching until it heals the rest of the way. And for heaven’s sake, don’t scratch!”

Sulu grinned. “Thanks doc!”

“Don’t mention it. And don’t scratch – I mean it!”

By the time the doctor sent Sulu on his way, it was almost time for lunch. Hopefully the lieutenant would give the rash time to heal and not try something idiotic like fencing with live steel and adding lacerations on top of the blisters. His enthusiasm made him a good officer, but he could get so carried away in his hobbies and forget that he was mortal flesh and blood.

***

Lunch did little to improve the doctor’s mood. It was always hard to come back to ship food after having meals planetside. At least the coffee was tolerable, even if it had never seen an actual bean. Still, he had to suppress a groan when he made his way back to sickbay and saw Lieutenant Uhura waiting there. “Well, what is it, Nyota? I assume you haven’t stopped by to chat.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t even though I’d like to,” Uhura rasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Sit down.” McCoy went to her side and palpated her neck. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” she nodded.

“What happened?”

Uhura paused before answering, as if trying to consolidate her thoughts into as few words as possible. “Concert. I sang. Then sang more at a bar. Karaoke, they called it. Old-style fun.”  
“Well it looks like you sang yourself into laryngitis. I’ve half a mind to make you just wait for it to heal naturally,” McCoy grumbled.

Uhura’s eyes widened, and she shook her head.

“No, I suppose the communications officer needs to have her voice. All right, open up.”

Uhura obediently opened her mouth and the doctor shined a light into her throat. “Looks like the beginning of an infection too. Probably got a foothold from the irritation. At least this’ll be easy to clear up. This throat spray will take reduce the inflammation, and it has an antiviral too. You should be able to talk normally in a couple hours. Come back if it doesn’t feel fully healed by tomorrow.”

“Yes, doctor, thank you,” Uhura whispered.

McCoy supposed he couldn’t blame Nyota. She really did sing like a bird, and she’d have had an appreciative audience for her concert on Earth. Though what she was thinking with more singing after that, in what surely would’ve been a loud bar that would strain her voice. At least the bars were safe these days. He shuddered to think of the places centuries ago, with all their smoke filled with carcinogens and addictive toxins. Thank heaven the crew wouldn’t be entering any atmosphere like that without proper filtration suits!

***

He barely had time to finish the thought before Scotty burst into sickbay. “I think I need a wee bit of help,” he said.

“You and the rest of the crew,” McCoy replied. “What did you do to yourself?”

“Well, ye see, there was an engine race, and I was piloting. Ground vehicles, ye know. Limited in what ye can use on the planet, but we got our hands on some accelerant and…it accelerated. We came in first, but the poor beastie exploded just past the finish line.”

“The spectators?” McCoy started towards the door, already concerned about mass injuries. “Shrapnel?”

“Nay, doctor, we kept a safe perimeter. Just me shoulder took a scrape when I had to roll out. The field medic said it weren’t serious, but it’s your word I trust.”

“All right, let’s see it. And don’t think flattery will get you anywhere,” McCoy said.

Scotty removed his shirt and the doctor peered at his wounded shoulder. “Surface lacerations, first and some second degree burns. That must hurt like a Denebian slime devil. Why in the world did they send you away without healing it up?”

“They didn’t have a tissue regenerator handy. I could’ve gone back today, but since I was beaming up to the Enterprise anyway, I knew you would take care of it. That poor engine, though. She was no Enterprise, of course, but she gave us all she could. Twas a shame to leave her broken on the ground there,” the engineer said mournfully.

“Scotty, you sound more broken up about that hunk of metal than you do about your own injury!” McCoy protested.

Scotty looked stunned. “Aye, doctor. I know you ken fix me up, but I coudna do anything for our champion.”

McCoy finished with the tissue regenerator. “All right, you’re as good as new. But stay away from any more jury-rigged race vehicles. If a piece of shrapnel goes through your heart, I won’t be able to fix you.”

“Aye, doctor,” Scotty replied. He may have even been sincere in that moment. McCoy didn’t understand the chief engineer’s obsession with machines that had no true spark of life. He protected the Enterprise like a baby, of course, but the doctor suspected he secretly enjoyed pushing the engines to their limits. He certainly enjoyed it with his dangerous toys, though McCoy believed his priorities were misplaced. You could always get a new engine; you couldn’t get a new body, and even though McCoy was extremely able, he couldn’t work miracles. And he certainly wasn’t moved by Scotty’s declaration of trust in his skills and experience. People would say anything when they were in pain.

***

As his shift wound down, McCoy put his equipment back in order. It was amazing how chaotic his tools could get when he was busy. Just as he finished, the captain walked in. “Jim! You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had!”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” the captain smirked, “but I’m actually here to see you in a professional capacity.”

“Not you too!” the doctor moaned. “What’s your problem?”

“Probably just muscle pain, maybe a bruise. I lost my footing when I was out bouldering.”

“And how far did you fall?”

“Three meters, maybe four. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

McCoy ran his medical tricorder over Kirk’s torso. “Wonder why you even come here if you’re so sure it’s nothing. You have a hairline fracture in your collarbone. I can heal it, but it’ll be stiff for a day or so, and you have to stop climbing without ropes!”

“It’s not climbing, Bones, it’s bouldering.”

“If you can fall and break bones, it’s climbing. You’re lucky you didn’t crack your thick skull!”

“I couldn’t have gotten seriously injured. Spock was with me…and by the look on your face I don’t think I should’ve told you that.”

“Get out of here,” McCoy scolded, walking to the intercom. “Commander Spock, please report to sickbay.”

“On my way, doctor,” Spock’s voice responded.

Turning to Kirk, McCoy said “You can leave now.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Bones.”

***

“You called for me, doctor?” the Vulcan asked.

“Jim says you let him go climbing without ropes again. He fractured his collarbone when he fell.”

“First of all, he insists that the activity is called bouldering, and secondly, I wonder that you’re still under the impression that I could stop Jim from doing anything.”

“You’re stronger than he is! Hold him down!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Would you have me break his spine in order to prevent him from breaking his collarbone?”

“No, I suppose not. But you wouldn’t believe this crew! They’re all maniacs just like him, coming back from shore leave in worse shape than when they left!”

“Indeed, I find human behavior on shore leave quite illogical.”

“We need some sort of system, some guidelines and regulations to keep people safe!”

“I quite agree. Perhaps we should have a list of forbidden and encouraged behaviors, and a pattern of activities to keep people occupied.”

“Exactly! Enough structure to keep folks out of trouble!”

“You are not the first to suggest that humanoids need caretakers. Vulcans can manage themselves, of course, but the people of the Gordian Reach…”

“Now wait just a damn minute Spock! You’re still not going to convince me those people could find meaning in servicing a hunk of tin!”

“But they were safe, until we intervened. Perhaps they now find meaning in music or athletics or science or art. Also, doctor, I notice you have some sunburn from your shore excursion. I’m sure you’re aware that, if left untreated, it can lead to skin cancer. Do take care of yourself.”


End file.
